A Day in the City
by Aya Salim
Summary: 'But the room starts to spin, and I feel like I'm gonna puke, forever. And right about that time .. I hear him. 'DEAN WINCHESTER' My old man.' My take of the events behind Dean's story about John Winchester. Tag to 10.09 - The Things We Left Behind. Teen!Chesters. One-shot. SPOILERS.


**A/N: **This is the first time for me to have the chance and write _John Winchester _in one of my fan fictions. It's also my first time to portray Sam and Dean as teenagers, so I don't really know if I did it in the right way or not. I didn't know what I was doing half the time I was working on this, I just tried to go on with how I saw it in my head when Dean told the story. So, you guys are gonna be the judge. I really hope you enjoy it.

**Also , **a big thanks to all the guests who reviewed my last fan fiction, _**Nothing &amp; Everything**_, you guys are the best!

**Spoiler: **10.09 – The Things We Left Behind.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything but my plot.

* * *

**A Day in the City**

_**Long Island, New York, 1995**_

''Come on, dad. Please.'' Twelve years old Sam whined from the backseat of the Impala. He elbowed his older brother, who sat alongside him in the backseat, to join in the pleas he was raining all over their dad.

Both boys had spent the last fifteen minutes of their ride to the same crappy diner where they had breakfast every day since the day they arrived at Long Island, whispering and arguing about whom should tell their dad, before John finally ran out of what already little patience he got and ordered them to spill.

It was going to be their last breakfast in town before they left New York in their rearview mirror since they had eliminated the ghost they were after and successfully finished the hunt the other night, but seemingly, the boys wouldn't have it this way.

_One doesn't simply go to New York and not get to goof around and discover the city_, Sam had heard his brother mutter quietly last night, while pouting a little himself when their father told them they were going to leave first thing in the morning, before he and Sam went to sleep. The thought didn't leave him all night long and the first thing he said to Dean when he was finally awake was that they really should convince their father to let them head to the city before they leave.

Dean shut his brother down with a quiet ''Dad'll never agree,'' but hell if he wasn't so on board after a lot whining from Sam's part, knowing that he was the one who initially planted the idea into his brother's stubborn, little head.

So, here they were, trying to convince their dad to head to the city and spend a little time there like any ordinary family would do at their first visit to New York.

''Sammy, I said no.'' John glanced at his son through the rearview mirror. ''Why would I want to take you boys there? It's too crowded and dirty. Not to mention the noise down there.'' He said with a shake of his head.

''Dad, please,'' Sam pleaded again, with his puppy-dog eyes that could almost change John's mind every time. Almost.

''Dean, talk some sense into your brother's head, would ya?'' John sighed, focusing on the road in front of him once again.

''Dad, what would happen if we just spend a little time there before we leave? I mean, we'll all be together.'' Dean finally joined the pleading party, surprising his father and earning a hopeful smile from Sam.

''Yeah, dad. What will happen? We're _The_ Winchesters, we hunt monsters!'' Sam said innocently, almost too enthusiastically, backing his big brother up. That earned a small chuckle from John and Dean jumped in, clutching at his father's hesitation, claws and teeth.

''Plus, Sammy here just got past his second hunt without screaming like a little girl, ain't that something we need to celebrate?'' Dean winked at his little brother, who punched him lightly in the shoulder. The smile not leaving his face, though.

''Jerk.''

''Bitch.'' Dean ruffled Sam's silky hair.

''Alright, that's enough, you two.'' Both boys looked back at their father through the small mirror. He was smiling that rare, affectionate smile of his and nodded. ''Okay.''

''Yes!'' Sam and Dean said in the same time, fist-pumping each other.

''But on one condition.'' That returned their attention to their father. ''You do as I say and we leave once I say so. No more whining or arguing. Got it?''

''But, dad, these are actually two conditions, not one.'' Dean couldn't help but wisecrack, earning a giggle from Sam and a glare from his dad.

''I said you got it?''

''Yes, sir.''

…

Once they were done with the fastest breakfast they ever had, the Winchesters were finally on their way to the city. It didn't take long before the black shiny car was driving down the city's streets. And it wasn't any different from what John remembered from his last visit there. Too many cars and too many people and peeping everywhere. It was Goddamn loud! And big! What if something happened? What if he lost one of his sons in here? Would he be able to find them among that big crowd, big streets, big everything?!

John was starting to regret letting his boys' pleas get to him, but after a brief glance at his sons' faces, he knew why he yielded.

Even though every person he knew tended to think he was a tough bastard who treated his kids like shit, he was never able to let them see that everything he was always trying to do was, essentially, for his sons' own good. He knew he was tough on them, too tough sometimes, but he also knew that Sam and Dean couldn't afford to be sloppy or weak, not if they were meant to survive this world. And he knew he couldn't afford to lose them, not like he lost Mary.

He swallowed convulsively at the knot in his throat that always threatened to finish him whenever his thoughts drifted back to his wife, and let the sound of his sons teasing and giggling drag him away from the edge.

The day wore off quickly, and John found himself at ease for the first time since a very long time and knew the boys felt it to, if the way Dean seemed to be letting his guard slightly down, smiling at his dad and laughing openly with his little brother was anything to go with.

Eventually they found themselves at a diner with five pizzas on their table because, as Dean put it, it would be shame not to try as much kinds of pizza as they could before they left the city, and Sam was totally on board.

As they sat eating their dinner, John watched and listened to the boys talk non-stop about their little tour through the streets and the sights they had seen and how it had been great to ride the subway for the first time in their lives, with a sparkle in Dean's eyes and a face-splitting smile on Sam's face, dimples and everything.

And John found himself smiling.

He missed this. He missed _normal_.

Silently, he wished Mary were here.

But he knew if she was watching them right now, she would be proud of him and her sons.

And at the moment, he was oddly content.

…

They had gone through the end of their peaceful dinner with Sam and Dean practically forcing down their fourth pizza with too much soda before they finally gave up and packed the last one to go, while their father watched them with amusement and a bottle of beer dangling between his fingers.

With the boys feeling too full to be sleeping anytime soon, they decided to drive through the city for a while to savor the sight of the still crowded streets, even at night, which was highlighted with the colors reflecting off the massive signboards and wide screens over almost every building.

Despite the noisy night, Dean leaned from where he sat shotgun and put one of their mix tapes into the cassette player and the music flew within the car's interior.

_So close no matter how far  
Couldn't be much more from the heart  
Forever trusting who we are  
And nothing else matters_

_Never opened myself this way_  
_Life is ours, we live it our way_  
_All these words I don't just say_  
_And nothing else matters_

Dean glanced at his father who looked back and gave him a slight nod with a smile that spread warmth through the sixteen-year-old boy's heart. He looked over his shoulder at his little brother to find him smiling at him, too, before Sam turned and looked outside his window at the night with his lips moving along the lyrics of the song, smile intact.

The middle Winchester nodded to himself, smiling just like his father and brother. Despite the fact that his little brother tended to listen to what Dean is used to call 'emo crap', he knew Sam had a soft spot for that particular song.

Finally they checked in a hotel, which Dean thought was stupidly expensive, but damn if the comfy beds with soft sheets weren't worth it.

It was already one hour before midnight, and unlike him, his dad and little brother were asleep the second their heads hit the pillows. He closed his eyes and counted to hundred, tried to relax into the mattress that seemed to swallow his body, he tossed and turned for half an hour and still, he was wide awake.

There was so much adrenaline pumping through his body for him to be able to sleep. The more he found out about New York, the more anxious he became to see and discover more.

He was in the heart of the city that never sleeps so why should he?

_Screw it_, he thought as he got out of the bed and tip-toed to the bathroom to change his clothes before he tucked his pocket knife into his boots and sneaked out of the room as quietly as he could. He sighed in relief that his father didn't wake up and caught him in the act, considering John's hunter alert that he rarely let slip, but it takes a hunter to sneak up another hunter. And well, he learned from the best.

Dean walked the corridor in wide, fast strides, headed to the stairs and within seconds he was out of the building.

He didn't really have a plan for how he was going to spend the night other than just walking around for a couple of hours, seeing more people and places before he went back to their room to an oblivious Dad and Sam. Hopefully.

He knew the rules and he knew his limits. He also knew that his dad would rip him a new one if he found out. Which would probably happen, given his luck. But hell if it wasn't worth the time he would spend on his own, at midnight, at the streets of New-Freaking-York city.

Smiling gleefully to himself, he started wandering the streets aimlessly but mindful not to lose track of his way back to the hotel. Maybe he was reckless, but he wasn't stupid.

Dean watched the people in the streets with a smile plastered on his face. It was already past midnight but almost everyone around him looked like they were just getting started with their night. He saw couples making out in the dark corners at a couple of turns he made, he saw a group of girls and guys walking hand in hand, laughing carelessly and living their lives, completely oblivious to what hid in the dark and the pain that always blossomed from within the night.

His eyes followed them until they turned around a corner and disappeared with a bang to his heart. They couldn't have been older than him by much, a year or two give or take, but he felt way older than them. He knew too much for a kid his age, saw more horror than anybody this young should have seen. The curtain had been lifted off way too early, before he was ready to give up the normal life, before he was ready to face the darkness the world breathed out in every step he took.

If his mother had been still alive, he could have been one of these kids, living the life a teenage boy should live, a free-darkness, normal one.

Breathing deeply, Dean shook himself before his pity session took on another path within the cracks of his soul and threatened to shatter the walls he worked so hard every day to construct and keep from coming down.

He came here to have fun, and that was the only thing he was going to get.

And he knew exactly where he should go.

It took him another twenty minutes to get there, with stopping a couple of times to ask for directions from people who didn't seem to care whether he was illegally allowed into such places or not. And finally, he found himself standing right outside the one and only CBGB.

And it wasn't really that hard for him to sneak in.

The first thing that hit him once he was inside was the smell. It smelled like sweat and whiskey and cigarettes and a few other things he couldn't recognize. The second thing that drew his attention was the loud noise coming from the stage's way; he looked up and saw a really big guy that would probably weigh four or five hundred pounds, with this strange haircut—both sides of the man's head were shaven, leaving a strip of longer, bright red hair in the center. He was—supposedly—singing, but it all seemed like screaming to the young hunter's ears.

His green-golden eyes surveyed the room in front of him, taking in everything, from the group of young people snorting up a white powder off of a table, to men and a women openly flirting with each other on the stools at the bar, to another group of guys at the bar who seemed to be in the middle of a drinking contest, and finally resting on a couple who should have gotten a room already.

To say his mind was blown would have been the understatement of the year. It looked quiet from the outside but the place was like a live wire from the inside. He has never been in a place like this before, his father never let him. And when he had the chance to go to a bar with his dad and maybe a fellow hunter after a hunt, he would hardly drink a beer. That didn't mean he didn't have a drink or two before, anyways.

He just stood there and… watched. He didn't know what to do, didn't know if he should try to get into the swing of things or it was better to just leave. Before he could decide, though, there was this blonde girl, with a piercing through her nose, walking towards him. He looked behind him just to make sure he was her target before she was already invading his personal space.

''Hey, beautiful,'' The girl rested her forearms on his shoulders, encircling his neck before she continued. ''Why don't you come over, sit with me and the guys on our table?'' She told him in his ears before she started to drag him towards a table which five guys and three girls circled—including the one who was now pushing him into a chair and taking the seat next to him.

Decision already made for him. Awesome.

The girl who invited him—whose name was Katy, she said—was about two or three years older than him, as well as the rest of the group he joined. He gathered that the place wasn't as strict about the whole under-age thing as it was supposed to be, and boy wasn't that just a bless.

They didn't seem to be drunk yet, but they were definitely on their way to, the guy with a big ass 'kill everything' tattoo and a piercing similar to Katy's said. Two guys seemed too engrossed making out with their girlfriends, or whatever they were, to even notice the new guest who just joined their little party, while their fourth friend slid Dean a glass of something—definitely not whiskey—across the table in a way of greeting.

Never one to refuse a chance to drink, even though it tasted funny, Dean accepted the shots that kept coming before the blonde girl put a half smoked cigarette between his thumb and forefinger.

He had never tried to smoke, but he was too far gone now to really care, and what was a little drag of smoke, really? It wasn't like it would kill him. Well, his dad might, if he found out, but he filtered the thought to the back of his head as quickly as it came.

''Now, take a deep breath but don't forget to let out.'' Katy wiggled her eyebrows at him and he knew he must have mentioned that he had never smoked before.

The mix of smoke and whatever the hell he was drinking burned his tongue, making him choke and exhale the smoke out in a fit of coughs. He felt the girl patting his back and saying something about that was how the first time usually went. He took another drag on the cigarette and tried to expel the smoke slowly and it worked.

Vaguely, he was aware that this wasn't a usual cigarette, it tasted funny just as well and he could have sworn he was starting to feel a little bit high. What was this group and funny stuff anyways? He was also aware that a long time had already passed and that his father would have his ass if he didn't drag it back to the hotel room soon in one piece. Which he was starting to highly doubt was going to happen.

He was actually beginning to feel something, and it wasn't a good one. He started to move away from the table but Katy practically forced another drink into him. It burned his tongue and his throat and sat heavily in his belly. The effect was soothing at first and made his body go limp, but soon enough it started coming back up in his throat. Along with all the shots he consumed and the pizza he had had earlier with his family.

Speaking of family, he really needed to go; he thought he said to Katy and whoever cared to listen, before he began to stand up. As soon as he did though, the room started to spin wildly and he felt like he was going to trip off the edge of the world. His stomach lurched and he was sure he was going to drown the place in his puke.

He wondered if that was how getting drunk felt like. He had witnessed the nights when his father was specially worked up over something and would stare at an empty spot all night, while nursing a bottle of Jack before he passed out and Dean needed to move him to the nearest couch or bed. He remembered his dad being sick the day after at occasions, but not right after drinking. But then again, John Winchester wasn't a frigging amateur.

And as if his thoughts had conjured his father in the here and now, Dean's heart almost stopped for a second when he heard his full name thundering into the room.

''DEAN WINCHESTER!''

Dean froze mid-motion and felt like this was as good time as any to choke on his own puke and die. Cautiously, Dean looked up towards where his father's voice had come from and swallowed back the bile filling his mouth, which wasn't only due to him being drunk. And boy was John _pissed_.

He couldn't move, he couldn't speak, and his dad just looked at him with such furiousness he wished the floor would open up and swallow him whole. He noticed that the place had grown quiet and looked around to find everybody staring at the man in the center of the room, not looking directly into his eyes though, and back at Dean, and damn if that wasn't the most embarrassing thing that had ever happened to him!

After a long moment of looking awkwardly back at his father, while freaking out internally, the guy with the tat from the group Dean had sat with stood up and uttered the words that Dean knew _he_ was the one who should have said a long time now instead of just staring stupidly at his old man.

''Sorry, sir.'' The kid said, but John didn't even spare him a glance before he turned around and left the club, Dean right on his heels.

Once outside, Dean gulped in fresh air as if he hasn't been breathing for the past couple of hours. He breathed in too deep that he choke on it and had to bend down and rest his hands on his knees—which were threatening to buckle—to be able to breathe, but instead, he coughed violently.

When the coughing finally subsided and he was able to breathe evenly again, he raised his head and saw his father standing on the sidewalk, a couple steps away from him and with his back turned to Dean.

Dad didn't even say a word which made Dean's panic gradually evaporate while embarrassment solidly sat in. How worse could things get when the worse was already happening, anyways?

His father had just came after him, scolded him in front a boatload of people—even if it was just by growling his name and staring him down—and left him no choice but to go after his dad out of the club like a grounded five-year-old. He was sixteen for fuck's sake! If he weren't to fool around now, then when would he be able to! When he died maybe. Dean mused silently.

He wasn't the one who complained about the way they lived, he wasn't the one who gave his father hell over how he should be having a normal life like kids his age, he wasn't the one who had to question every Goddamn order his father gave him. He was dad's good soldier, the second man in command; the one dad depended on to watch his back and Sam's. But hell if the damn stuff he had drunk back there in the club weren't giving him more courage than he usually maintained around his father.

Yes, he knew the risks. Yes, he knew better than to question his father's decisions. Yes, he knew they couldn't just give up on hunting and live a regular life because it was their job to help people and help the world rid of as much ugly sons-of-bitches as they could. God, he knew all of it! But that didn't mean he hadn't always wanted to have a normal life that lasted more than just four years. It didn't mean that he couldn't have fun like any boy his age would do, for just once, without having to look like the world's biggest loser.

Finally, he gathered his wets and walked to his father.

''Dad…'' He began but then John turned to glare hotly at him.

''What the hell were you thinking, Dean?'' John yelled at him and Dean couldn't help but flinch and take a step back. ''What the hell is wrong with you? Think you can just sneak out and back in and I would never find out? You really that stupid to go out in the middle of the night and get yourself fucking _drunk_? '' John's voice got louder with every question he threw at Dean, while the few people who were still outside their homes were shooting awkward glances their way.

''Answer me when I'm talking to you, goddammit!'' His dad growled, yanking him hard towards him by the collar of his jacket, which did little to help Dean's urge to throw up until the next year and made the buzzing in his ears only worse.

''Stop it, dad. You're embarrassing me!'' The words were out of his mouth before he could even think, and suddenly he was swaying on his feet once again as his father let go of him.

Dean closed his eyes against his blurring vision, trying to slow the rushing blood in his head that threatened to pop his eyes out of their sockets, and was partially relieved that he couldn't see the disappointment he knew would be there when he looked at his father's face.

With his eyes still clamped shut, he could hear his father telling—ordering—him to do something, and he obeyed almost reflexively. He opened his eyes as he was ordered to and forced himself to look up at his father and, yep, there it was; Disappointment at its finest.

This time he wasn't fazed, though. It wasn't like he didn't see the same look in his father's eyes countless times before, so what was one more time? All he wanted was to have a good night, enjoy few drinks—okay, maybe they weren't that few—maybe make out with a hot chick or something before he went back to their room. It wasn't like he did a crime!

A distant voice—which he recognized as his—told him that this was the alcohol talking, that he wasn't thinking straight, that he deserved whatever punishment his dad was going to put him through because he broke the rules, because he crossed the line. But it was so distant that he couldn't grasp on it for more than two seconds and then all he was left with was rage.

Dimly, he heard his father continue yelling at him, saying something about Dean embarrassing himself by being stupid and reckless, but he was too busy trying to put the three images of his father's figure together and holding back the acid that wanted to come out of his mouth so bad to actually focus. What John said next caught his attention, though, and somehow he was lucid enough to feel the words ring in his head and pang in his chest.

''Look at you, Dean! That's the man who's supposed to watch my back? Watch Sammy's back? Aren't you embarrassed of what Sammy'll think of you when he sees you like this?''

This wasn't even about _him_ being drunk, was it? It was about dad and Sam. Of course, it was. It has always been about what dad and Sam wanted, what dad and Sam needed from _him_, what they needed him to be.

All his life, he has been watching Sam's back. Taking care of Sam's every need. He had watched over Sam when dad couldn't, when dad didn't. He was the one who was always there for Sam since the day his mother went up into flames along with his childhood. How could dad say such thing to him when all he has been doing all his life was watching out for Sammy? Now he had became a grade-A loser for wanting something for himself for a change? Now he was the world's worst brother for spending a couple of hours doing what kids his age did every Friday night of their year?!

Maybe he was being over dramatic, but dad had always known what exactly to say to slash him up, to tear him apart from the inside out.

''How am even supposed to trust you to watch out for Sammy anymore? For all I know, you could be planning to go and get your ass drunk the next time I leave you in charge!''

And enough was _really_ enough.

''God, dad! I HATE YOU!'' Dean shouted at the top of his lunges, and the look on John's face could have been comical if the situation wasn't really fucked up, then he froze once he realized what he just said.

Dean would have taken back the words the second they were out of his mouth hadn't he been too wound up and angry with his father. He was sickly satisfied at the look of hurt he put on John's face before his dad's expression turned cold with anger again.

John's eyes were deadly serious when they locked with his, making him afraid to even move a muscle. ''Son, you don't like me? That's fine.'' He said calmly, as if those three words meant nothing to him. ''It's not my job to be liked. It's my job to raise you right.'' With that he turned and headed to where the Impala was parked a couple steps away, leaving Dean staring at the spot his father just vacated.

''Now, get in the damn car.''

And without a second thought, he obeyed his father.

…

The ride back to the hotel was blanketed with heavy silence, and tension so thick John could slice through it with a knife, safe a low groan from his son whenever the car pumped onto something. It was almost dawn when they finally made it to the hotel, and Dean got out of the car quietly, not looking at his father, and made his way hurriedly towards their room.

As he got inside the room after his older son, John heard Sam ask his brother if he was okay before he heard the sound of the bathroom door clicking shut and Dean's muffled, ''Go away, Sammy.''

''_God, Dad! I HATE YOU!'' _

It took only three words from his older son to feel like the worst father in history. Three words that their impact was harder than any slap across the face he could have ever had.

They were still ringing into his ears with such force he wanted to smash something. He had never thought he would hear them from Dean. Sam, sure, the kid tended to use the 'H' word whenever he got too upset with him or his brother, but not Dean. Never.

He knew he had pushed Dean maybe too far. But he couldn't suppress the fear of waking up to Dean's empty bed, and Sam freaking out after he stirred awake and found out that his brother was missing just as well. His fear to lose one of his sons in the big city hit him badly that he all but shouted at Sam to listen to him and stay in the room in case Dean came back when John was still outside looking for him.

Luckily for Dean, John knew him too well to know where to look for him—if his son had gone out willingly and on his own, that was. And once he did, he couldn't hold back his shock or anger when he saw the state his son was in and the people he was making friends with.

And he just lost it.

He was a hunter, an ex-marine, but above, all he was a father. He freaked out, and Winchesters didn't do freaking out well. So, sue him for reaming his son out.

''Dad, what's going on? Where'd you find Dean?'' Sam's voice brought him to the present and he had to take a deep breath to keep his fear and anger in check.

''It's alright now, sport. You don't have to worry about anything, okay?'' John told him, squeezing his shoulder a little, knowing that Sam was dealing with his own fear just as well. Sam looked like he was about to argue and demand more answers, so John did what he knew would distract his younger son, at least for a while.

''Hey, why dontcha take out the bottle of Advil and hand your brother a coupla pills, huh?''

''Why, is he okay?'' Sam looked at the locked door of the bathroom and back at his father.

''He's fine. But he'll probably need them for his headache.''

Given a mission, especially to relieve his big brother's pain, was enough to make Sam stop his inquiring and quickly dig the pills out of their first-aid kit, before he knocked softly on the bathroom's door.

''Dean? Are you okay?''

It took a couple of minutes before Dean's raspy voice came from inside the bathroom.

''I told you to go away, Sammy!''

''Come on, Dean. Dad said you'll need these for your headache.'' He shook the bottle of pills as if Dean could see what he meant by 'these'.

''Just leave 'em on the nightstand.'' Came Dean's strangled reply as he choke on the last word, and Sam and John could hear him vomit violently on the other side of the door.

John sighed and sat at the table near the kitchenette, while Sam helplessly stood behind the door, waiting patiently until his brother came out.

…

He was miserable. If this how being drunk and hangover were like, he was never going to drink ever again.

He was having the most painful headache in man's history, he felt like something had crawled inside his mouth during the night and died there, his body was aching and his eyes were throbbing and he was so sure his head would roll off of his shoulders if he dared to move.

It was already past noon, Sam had told him when he shook him awake, but he felt like he hasn't slept in years. Last night's events were all fuzzy and hazy, and all he could remember was feeling like shit, throwing up for hours, telling his dad that he hated him, and swallowing painkillers before he practically passed out, not certainly in that order.

The thing that kept him in bed even after Sam woke him up, though, wasn't his headache, neither his aching body. It was the fact that he didn't know how he was going to face his dad after what happened last night.

God, he was _so_ embarrassed with himself.

He didn't just screw up and got drunk while he wasn't even allowed to drink, all behind his father's back. No, he had to act like a little girl and be a drama queen, too. He didn't know how he was going to fix this, he didn't know if his dad would even look at him again, but he knew that sooner or later he would have to get out of the bed. So, he finally got up, groaning loudly as his head threatened to split in half, and made his way to the bathroom.

His dad was already outside, bringing coffee or something, he couldn't really remember what Sam had said, so he took his time in the shower, trying to flex his aching muscles and actually wake up.

When he got out of the bathroom after he brushed his teeth and thought he looked partially human again, he found Sam packing his and Dean's joined duffel bag, while dad sat at the table and sipped at his coffee. There was another cup of coffee on the table and Dean could have kissed his dad right now, before his words from last night rushed back to him.

He moved awkwardly around the room, Sam was eyeing him with concern and Dean wondered what exactly did his father tell Sam had happened? Was it true that his little brother would look at him differently when he knew how much he screwed up the other night? Without giving himself the chance to think, Dean moved as quickly as he could towards the table where his father sat and squinted as the harsh florescent light sliced through his head.

''Dad, I'm sorry.'' He said quietly, noticing how Sam went still out of the corner of his eyes and turning to watch the pair of them cautiously.

John turned his face towards his son and just stared at him for a long moment which made Dean want to squirm. Just when Dean thought his dad wasn't going to answer him and he was going to get the silence treatment, and what else his father had in mind for him, as a punishment, John spoke quietly but firmly.

''I don't want to hear your apologies, Dean.'' He held up a hand for Dean when he was about to speak again. ''All I want is for you to promise me that last night is never going to happen again. Can you do that?'' It was practically an order.

''Yes, sir.'' Dean replied without missing a beat, gripping at the forgiveness thread his father threw to him and held on tightly. ''I promise.''

John looked at him for a minute before he nodded and stood up. Dean watched him as he went to his bed and grabbed his bag, ready to leave New York and all its trouble behind.

But Dean couldn't let it go, yet.

''Dad,'' John stopped to look at him and Dean had to clear his throat and swallow a couple of times before he could speak again. ''I really didn't mean what I said. I – I don't … I can never…'' He stammered, his voice cracking just a little bit, but he couldn't voice it. He couldn't say it again.

He was aware of Sam watching the conversation silently and waiting for John's reply almost as much as Dean was. Finally, his dad had some mercy on him and smiled very slightly, nodded and said, ''I know.''

Grateful, Dean nodded back, unable to speak, mindful of how precious the gift his father just gave him was, and swore to himself that he would cherish it until the last breath he took.

When the moment finally passed, Dean stood there waiting for his father's old fashioned punishment, to tell him how many extra laps or push-ups or whatever he would have to do for the upcoming days and for how long. And as though his father could read his mind—at times Dean suspected he seriously could—John's next words surprised him.

''You won't have to double your workout time or whatever you're thinking in that head of yours. Hangover's gonna take care of that.'' John said pointedly at him and smirked.

And he was right.

Hangover was the worst punishment he had received to date.

\- **_Fin._**

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I hope you liked it. Review are love ;)

Have a great weekend!

Aya S.


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